


Your wish is Granted

by Imjohnlocked87, RRipley



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Afghanistan, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Greg Lestrade, Case Fic, DI Donovan, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Gen, Humor, Hurt John Watson, Johnlock - Freeform, Love, M/M, Sad John Watson, Writer John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-29 06:23:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20792090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imjohnlocked87/pseuds/Imjohnlocked87, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RRipley/pseuds/RRipley
Summary: Sergeant Sally Donovan is fed up with Sherlock Holmes. Her deepest wish is to eradicate the detective from her life. One day, she runs into a strange fairground attraction called Zoltar, which makes her wish come true.Without Sherlock around, she achieves her secret ambition, becoming DI. But she will soon realize her wish have also changed everybody's life in a very surprinsingly ways. And the worst part is , after disappearing, Sherlock Holmes turned into an ubiquitous creature who haunts her wherever she goes.





	1. If I were a DI

The sound of dozen of phones receiving a message at the same time went through the conference room. Journalists withdrew their attention from Lestrade, Donovan and Dimmock to check their smartphones.

“It says _wrong, _“ announced one of the journalists.

Lestrade ignored him and continued to give details of the case, trying not to pay attention to the interruption. First, because he was accustomed to the constant buzzing of his phone but mainly because, luckily for him, the case had aroused the interest of Sherlock, which meant that they could finally solve it. Donovan, on the other hand, writhed in her seat every time the sound of incoming messages revolutionized the more than fifty journalists gathered in the room.

It could not be otherwise. Four murders in four weeks. All of them committed on Sundays, the same modus operandi and victims who had nothing in common with each other. Anderson and the rest of the forensic team had combed the four crime scenes and found no clue about the author. The case had them baffled. But the worst part was that the press had echoed about it, and the citizens of London were terrified by the possibility of being murdered by “the vampire” as they had baptized the murderer since victims had been bled to death. (Lestrade was still trying to guess how this data could have arrived at the journals).

Sitting in front of the journalists and feeling completely stupid, Lestrade regretted had listened to his team when they asked him not to involve Sherlock in the case, assuring that they could solve it with the same efficiency as the tall and pale detective. A month later, he had four victims at the morgue, press pressuring him and his superiors yelling him at the phone the whole day.

On the other side, Sherlock just waited. He knew it was a matter of time that Lestrade requested his help. But the prick didn’t lose the chance to play with the Yards at the press conference, because of the whole country and, even worse, of his superiors.

His phone vibrated again. "_ You know where to find me. SH_. "

Lestrade sighed alleviated, and, ignoring the journalists' questions, left the conference room and headed to his office, where he took his coat.

"Please, don’t…“ Donovan syllabled.

“f you give me another option, I’ll take it without hesitation “ the DI was striding towards the garage.

“Give us a bit more time. We can solve it”.

The man stopped.

“Time? We DON’T have TIME, Donovan. Today it’s Wednesday. In four days another murder will be committed, and we’ll be as clueless as we are right now. We need Sherlock. We need him to solve this right now”.

“You don’t trust in your team.”

Lestrade stopped and frowned, offended.

“Of course I do, and you know it. But he has the… deduction thing that allows him to solve crimes in a blink of an eye. And we need these murders to be solved. You must admit it, all of us here owe him half of our careers”.

Donovan snarled.

“But he is a freak, a psychopath.”

“I know it's not easy to deal with him. But, could you imagine how we would be without him? The stack of unsolved cases? You and I would already be patrolling dog parks”.

Sally snorted.

“Are you coming with me?”

“To Baker Street?" she asked with disdain, "To beg him to help us?“ Lestrade stirred uncomfortably. Donovan wasn't reasonable and, definitely, not helpful. Anyway, he didn’t want to argue with his subordinated, so remained silent while listening to the woman’s wailing, “I'll better go home.” 

The DI nodded, sighing, thinking about how easier his work could be if Donovan and Sherlock could work together without fighting all the time. But they loathe each other, though he didn’t know the reason why. Maybe it merely was hate at first sight. Ambling, he entered the garage and headed to his car. He got into it and sighed again, running his hand through his short grey hair. Years of preventing Donovan and Sherlock from killing each other were getting him old.

Donovan walked down the street, cursing the detective in a low voice, thinking about how different things would be in case she was the DI. Oh. Really different. She wouldn’t allow the freak to poke his nose in her cases. Of course not. Moreover, she would lock him in the deepest jail at New Scotland Yard. No. Even better. She would build a dungeon, an _actual _medieval dungeon in the depths of NSY foundations, lock the freak in and throw the key to the Thames. She smiled wickedly at the image of the detective chained to the wall, begging at her to let him free. Donovan shivered with delight. 

She was so focused on her thoughts that she didn’t realize she was walking through a fairground located near the port. Bumper cars, roller coasters and other attractions both amused and terrified visitors.

“Damn Holmes!“ Sally spat.

Wandering, she reached the loneliest area of the fair. At the bottom of one narrow and short alley, she noticed a kind of kiosk decorated with alchemical symbols. The wind played with her hair, and leaves fluttered on the floor. Sally approached it, glad to get away from the hustle and bustle of the people. Behind the glass, she saw a mannequin bust dressed in an oriental turban, black eyes, mustache and goatee. A fortune-teller or a wizard, she thought. A name, Zoltar, wrote in big purple letters above the man. Piqued by curiosity, she read the instructions.

"_ Make a wish and throw a coin. If it falls into Zoltar's mouth, your wish will be fulfilled_. ”

She was about to turn around when, with a hiss, the attraction came alive. The lights inside the cabin turned on and the mannequin's eyes lit up, adopting a reddish hue while slowly opening and closing his mouth. Sally looked back and forth and shrugged. That eyes captivated her. Why not?

She rummaged in her trousers’ pocket and found a coin. Turning a wheel on the control panel, she guided the lane through which the coin would descend so that it would fall directly into Zoltar's mouth. When satisfied with the angle, she made her wish and threw the coin, which got into the aim. The machine brightened even more and a card appeared in a slot in the front panel of the kiosk. Hesitantly, Sally took it. One side of the card was decorated with similar alchemic symbols as the attraction. She turned it around and read the message in the opposite one.

“Your wish is granted.”

Sally smiled halfway. If it were so easy… She moved and tripped with the cable for connection to the power grid. She picked it up and realized that, though the kiosk was still illuminated and Zoltar was still closing and opening his mouth, it was not connected to the electricity grid.

Strong wind hit the area. Stunned and a bit scared, Donovan kept the card in her back pocket, turned around, and, without looking back, ran to the nearest subway station.

When she arrived at his apartment, she poured herself a glass of wine, contemplating the city lights. If New York was the city that never sleeps, London was not lagging. The wine helped her to relax and forget about the strange kiosk. She got into bed and picked up a book to read for a while before sleep. Tomorrow she would have to deal with the freak, but for now, she could calmly read his novel without any alleged genius telling her who the murderer was by just glancing at the cover.


	2. The Archive Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Donovan founds what happened to Lestrade

The next morning, Donovan woke up and stretched her arms. Then she jumped out of bed, took a shower, dressed and prepared breakfast. While eating, she looked at her smartphone. Turned off. It had run out of battery. She plugged the charger and the continuous vibration of a pile of incoming messages stirred her stomach. The freak must have arrived at the crime scene and had started barking orders as if the Yards were their lackeys.

Sally ignored the phone (a vain attempt to vanish Holmes), finished her breakfast and went outside towards New Scotland Yard Headquarters. Once there, the sergeant headed Lestrade’s office. Surprisingly, she found it empty.

“Detective inspector?"

She turned to the young officer who was looking at her, then looked around for Lestrade. The man seemed to live in his office. That was the first time Donovan arrived at the office before the DI.

“He will be on his way.”

The rookie looked at her without understanding, but he was new and didn't want to screw up.

“This is for you,” he handed her a pair of bulky brown folders. ”Should I leave it on your desk?”

“Yes, thanks.”

The officer went into Lestrade's office and stopped, doubting. Donovan followed him.

“What…?'"

Her eyes widened. What was that mess? Lots of folders and filing cabinets were scattered throughout the cubicle: full shelves, stacks of folders covering every possible corner ... Files and dossiers stacked on the table, where there was barely room for the computer and the mouse. Even the metal self where Lestrade used to hang Rosie Watson-Holmes' drawings was full of documents. The officer looked at her expectantly.

Donovan made a vague gesture with his hand.

“What case are they from?”

“Vampire.”

“Leave it on the desk.”

The young man hesitated for a moment, then deposited them on top of the keyboard, the only space available.

“Do you want a coffee?” he asked then.

“Yes, thanks.”

“The Chief Superintendent,” Anderson announced, rearing his head in the office. He gestured toward the phone.

“What about Lestrade?"

Anderson looked at her, a bit puzzled and shrugged.

“In the Archive, I guess. Line two. Don’t keep him waiting. He’s fuming”.

“Anything new?” yelled the Chief Superintendent as she picked up the phone.

“Errr, sir?”

There was an exasperated sigh on the other side of the line.

“We have a press conference in ten minutes. Tell me you have something, anything, _ whatever._”

“Su ... sure sir,” she lied. She didn't want to annoy him.

“See you in the press room.”

Sally hung up, puzzled. She turned to Anderson, who remained silent by the door.

“Do we have a press conference?”

“Yes, in ten minutes. The Vampire.”

“The Vampire? We had one yesterday about that.”

“Yesterday? Sally, it's clear what we did it last night has affected your memory.” he licked his lips smugly,” the tenth victim.”

“Ten? It’s not possible. There were only four victims.”

“That was before he started murdering twice a week. And, you know, the copycats.”

“Twice a week? Copycats? “ she started to feel sick. 

Anderson turned around.

“Dimmock!” he called.

He approached them.

“When did the vampire start killing twice a week?” asked Donovan

The man watched at her, bewildered. He gazed at Anderson, who made an incomprehensible but blatantly obscene gesture towards Donovan. Dimmock rolled his eyes. Anderson was so stupid that he didn't bother to hide that if he continued in his position, it was only because he slept with the DI.

“From the fourth victim,” the man took the dossier. "A month ago.”

A month? No, no, no. It was yesterday when Zoltar… or wasn’t it? She started panicking. Something went wrong, really wrong. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

“How many arrested?“ she almost shouted.

A deathly silence descended in the office. All eyes turned to her.

“How many suspects?” This time she spoke a little lower.

“None,” Dimmock muttered, lowering his head.

“What? Ten corps, double murders, and we have not arrested anyone? Do we not even have any suspects?

“The forensic team"; made a gesture towards Anderson, "hasn’t found anything that can be useful for us."

“Hey!” Anderson protested,” if the culprit leaves no trace, we cannot find anything.”

“If you processed the scenarios with a minimum of professionalism...”

“Are you going to tell me how to do my job?”

Dimmock lowered his head.

Donovan felt she was short of breath. She picked up the dossier and went down to the press room. Where the hell was Lestrade?

She sat at the table next to the Chief Superintendent and opened the dossier, reading it hastily, hoping to find some clue that would have gone unnoticed to his teammates. The room was filled with the sound of footsteps, conversations and waves of laughter while the journalists sat down. Soon there was silence. The Chief Superintendent pointed to one of them.

“Detective Inspector, something new in the investigation?”

It took Donovan several seconds to realize that all eyes were fixed on her. She opened her mouth and closed it again. She heard a chuckle in the background.

“Of course,” the Chief Superintendent answered for her ”for now, however, we cannot make public our advances since that could disrupt the investigation.” He cleared his throat.

“What could you say to calm people? We are talking about a murderer who sneaks into houses with windows and doors closed.”

“That ... that they should be as attentive as possible to any suspect…” Donovan responded by stepping out,” any strange behavior, any ...” God, she was doing the same as when Lestrade begged people not to commit suicide in the Study in Pink case. She felt completely stupid.

She looked at the table, looking for something to pull herself together. If her mind was blank until then, it stopped dead with a squeak when she saw the name in front of her in the identification sign in front of her: "Detective Inspector S. Donovan."

She got up, stumbling. She felt that she lacked the air.

“Where is Lestrade?” she muttered.

“Donovan!” shouted between his teeth the Chief Superintendent, urging her to sit with a look.

“Where.is.Lestrade?” she repeated.

“In the Archive,” Dimmock whispered in her ear. What the hell was wrong with the boss today? ”Where else?”

She stood and left the press room between the rumour of the journalists' surprising voices and the Chief Superintendent's attempts to maintain order and calm. She knocked open the stairs door and leaned on the corner, panting.

No, it could not be true. It was just a ridiculous fairground attraction ... But it was happening.

“** _ Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,_**” Sherlock’s voice stated in her head.

“Get out! “ she shouted.

She ran down the stairs to the basement of the building, to the Archive department. There, sitting behind the barred window that gave access to it, was Lestrade, immerse in a book.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” replied the man, frowning and getting into the book again.

“Lestrade, something strange is happening.”

“Yes indeed. Donovan, the flamboyant DI deigning herself to get down here.”

“The Vampire case. Please help me. You still were DI during the first four murders.”

Lestrade raised his head slowly. He looked at her with such contempt that Sally stepped back.

“You know very well that they dismissed me as DI after the case of the serial suicide.”

“Serial suicides? But that case was solved! The taxi driver!”

He looked at her with complete bewilderment.

“Are you drunk? That case never was settled, as none of these”, he gestured, covering the lots of file boxes behind him. “I was dismissed after the fifteenth victim, remember? I’m sure you do. You didn't hesitate a second in running to the Chief Superintendent, ensuring you were much more capable of solving the case than the poor, clumsy Lestrade. And you got my position. After all, that was what you always wanted, since the day you arrived at the Yard, “ he spat.

Donovan shook her head incredulously.

“I would never do that to you.”

Lestrade turned away, shaking his head in disbelieve.

“What happened? With suicides, I mean.”

“They stopped, nobody knows why.”

Donovan knew why. She recalled that the report mentioned that the taxi driver suffered from a terminal illness. As Sherlock and the ghost shooter weren’t there to catch him, the ”suicides” should cease when the taxi driver died.

“And you were transferred here?”

“Transfer? Great euphemism. No. They didn’t transfer me. They degraded me. But I’m lucky,” he muttered under his breath. He rummaged in the pockets of his jacket and took out a cigarette.

“You can’t smoke here.”

“Report me," Lestrade replied, lighting it and taking a deep drag, then exhaling the smoke towards Donovan’s face. From under the counter, he pulled out a can full of water and butts.

“Why are you lucky?“ asked Donovan.

“Because I wasn’t fired and I’m not the Yard’s DI with the highest level of crime in the past fifty years in London,” he chuckled, squinting through the smoke of the cigarette. ”You certainly deserve applause. Therefore and because surrounding yourself with such a pack of incompetent people, you managed to appear as the smartest one.” he clapped his hands several times, slowly. “Therein, you were more talented than me. In my team, I looked for qualified officers.“ He sounded really hurt. Then he raised the book at eye level. “And now, I have a reading to finish.”

Sally watched him silently. That was not happening. She was ambitious, yes, but she would never have trotted Lestrade, wouldn’t she? In fact, she never had a chance. With Sherlock by his side solving crimes at full speed, Lestrade became untouchable and no Superintendent in his right mind would have dismissed him. Could her ambitions have overpassed her loyalty?

Her eyes fell on the title of the book. _ Sherlock Holmes: Study in Pink _” Shocked, she ripped it out of Lestrade’s hands.

“What the hell…?“ cursed the man.

“Where did you get this?” Donovan shrieked.

“From a very strange place. I think they call it a bookstore, “ mocked Lestrade.

“This book cannot exist.”

“Well, for not existing, it’s a perfect one” Lestrade held out his hand, trying to catch the book. “The best crime novel I’ve ever read.”

Donovan covered her face with her hands.

“This book cannot exist,” she repeated, about to cry.

“Do you want me to hit you with it so you realize it’s real?” he pulled the book out of her hands. “Now, leave me alone. I’m really enjoying it. This Sherlock Holmes is brilliant.

Donovan shouted, exasperated, holding the impulse to stomp her feet.

“Is he writing his memoirs now?”

“Who?”

“The freak! Sherlock Holmes!”

“Donovan, if I were you, I would go for a brain CT scan or something. Sherlock Holmes is not real. He is the protagonist of John Watson's novels.”

“Novels? John Watson writes a blog.“

Lestrade laughed loudly.

“A blog? No, he writes novels. In fact, he is the bestselling author of the moment. You should read his books. Sherlock Holmes solves the cases that NSY is unable to, like the serial suicides one.”

“But… but ...” she sighed, defeated.

“John Watson’s book-signing is this afternoon and I want to finish this one before it. So, if you don’t mind…”

“Are you going to meet him? Can I go with you?

“No.”

He turned Donovan away.

“_ Don’t talk out loud, you lower the IQ of the whole street _" he read aloud and chuckled. ”This Holmes is amazingly brilliant.”

Donovan sighed, exasperated, her mind traveling to the exact moment when the ”real” Sherlock Holmes retorted Anderson with that sentence during a pretended drug bust.

She turned on her heels and, looking at her phone, headed towards her office.

“Donovan we have…” Dimmock started.

“I have to go.”

“But…

The woman left her office at full speed.


	3. The best selling author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donovan visits Dr Watson. No, no doctor Watson. Mr. Watson?....

Half an hour later, she got out of the cab in front of the hotel and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. After all, she had always liked John Watson. He was a good man, polite, calm and caring for other’s feelings, although she never understood how he could have fallen in love with the freak and, even worse, married him. Donovan remembered the first time she met him, joining Sherlock in a case, when she warned him of the freak being a psychopath, or when advised him to go fishing instead of chasing criminals with the freak throughout the city.

But bit by bit, that short blond man who almost went unnoticed, became an essential part of Holmes' work and life. What did the freak call him? Ah yes, his Conductor of Light. Just what she needed now. She smiled softly about the idea of solving crimes with John Watson by her side.

She entered the hotel, took the elevator, got off on the second floor, looked for room 221 and knocked on the door. As she got no response, she hit again.

Then, a young, attractive woman with long, straight black hair opened the door. Her gaze was fixed on her smartphone and she didn’t bother to look at her.

“Yes?”

“Errr, I'm... sergen ... Detective Inspector Donovan,“ she showed her badge, ”I would like to speak with John Watson.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman replied, typing quickly on the phone keyboard.

“No”

“Then, he couldn’t receive you.“ She attempted to close the door.

Donovan felt the anger overwhelm her. She was a Detective Inspector, wasn’t she? She retained the door.

“Look…”

“Anthea.”

“Look, Anthea. I have to talk to Doctor Watson, it's…”

“Mr.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. Watson, not Doctor. “

“But he is a doctor, isn’t he?”

Donovan enjoyed the surprised glance Anthea gave her. She may not be as smart as Holmes, but she had the winning hand in that play, whatever it was.

“How…? Don’t mind. Anyway, don’t call him Doctor.”

“Ok, Mr. Watson. I need to talk to him.”

Anthea looked at her, a cloud of worry crossing her eyes for a second.

“Wait here,“ she simply said and disappeared into the room. She returned a couple of minutes later. ”Mr. Watson will receive you now.” She stepped aside and pointed to an adjacent door.

Donovan strode across the room and opened it. Sitting behind a large wooden table, John Watson was taking notes from a book. He neither bother to look up at her. Donovan fumed. Why was everyone acting as if she were invisible? She was a DI, for goodness sake! She cleared her throat.

“I hope it's important,” the man's blue eyes finally landed on her, ”in half an hour, I leave for a books-signing.

“Yes ..., it is ..., it is important. It's ...”

She was speechless. The man in front of her was, undoubtedly, John Watson, but he didn’t look like him. No trace of his usual jumpers or jeans. Instead, he was like a Watsonian version of Sherlock Holmes, since he was wearing a tailored black suit and a silk blue shirt, two first buttons unbuttoned. Thank goodness his hair reminded short and blond, and the doctor hadn’t dyed or curled it. Instinctively, she looked around the room, somehow expecting to find the Belstaff coat and the everlasting blue scarf somewhere.

The doctor looked at her in a way that made Donovan feel uncomfortable. His gaze used to be clean, affectionate or firm, without that mixture of mockery and hardness with which he was looking at her.

“Reality outdoes fiction, certainly.”

“Excuse me?”

The writer raised an eyebrow for an answer. Donovan cleared her throat again, embarrassed.

“I wanted you to help NSY in the Vampire’s murders case.“ She managed to say.

“Are you insane?”

“According to your books, you are an expert in solving crimes, and in the way the Yard works, “Watson didn’t miss the woman’s offended tone, “so I thought you could be helpful for us.” _Therefore and because of you use to solve crimes with the freak in another life, another reality or whatever this shit is_" she wanted to add. Happily, she managed to bite her tongue.

John laughed with that pitch giggle Donovan knew so well (both the doctor and the freak giggling at crime scenes), but it resonated with a mix of mockery and bitterness new for her.

“So, the Yard is so lost that you need the help of a fiction writer?“ The man giggled again.

“Yes... I mean, no… well ... I've been checking out your books and the protagonist...”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

Donovan felt her blood boiling.

“The Fr-Holmes seems to have ... quite accurate theories,” God, saying that was worse than being skinned alive, ”about our cases and ...

“What is this, some kind of joke?”

“No, I'm truly asking you for help,” Donovan lowered his head, ”You ... well, I cannot explain to you why, but… I’m sure your contribution would play an important role… in the…”

John Watson turned his attention away from her and looked around the room, searched for something. He raised some of the papers that populated his table and turned the chair to do the same with the dresser under the mirror. While doing that, he was muttering under his breath, clearly getting irritated.

“Mycroft!” Donovan gasped when the doctor shouted that name. The last thing she needed now was the British Government entering the room. ”MYCROFT!“, the writer barked again, annoyed.

Rushed footsteps were heard and Sherlock’s older brother appeared on the doorpost. Donovan froze. Physically, he was the Mycroft she knew, but, apart from that, in that man there was nothing left of the proud, pedantic, posh, and self-confident freak’s older brother. Instead of his usual three-piece suit, he wore an ugly tobacco sweatshirt and old worn jeans. In his left hand he carried a pen and in his right one a notebook. But what impressed her most was his gaze, elusive and frightened, avoiding by all means making eye contact with the writer.

“Where is my drink?”

“No ... haven't they brought it yet, sir?”

Donovan opened his mouth in amazement. Sir?

“Oh, they have.” Watson's sarcasm contained a threatening note as if he was refrained himself from strangling his shaky assistant. “I’m asking you because I have nothing better to do. OF COURSE THEY HAVEN’T BROUGHT IT!“ he exploded, “It is so difficult to bring me a drink when I ask you for it? Are you so limited you can’t accomplish such an easy task properly?”

Mycroft's lower lip started trembling as he cringed over himself, so much that Donovan woman almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Until she remembered he was a Holmes.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE YET?“ Watson was yelling so loud that Donovan was sure all hotel customers were hearing him.

“Anthea ...,” Mycroft seemed about to faint, ”she...”

The punch on the table made Mycroft finch and startled Donovan. She was aware of Doctor Watson’s outbursts, especially the ones addressed to Sherlock (which she enjoyed a lot), but the doctor was about to lose self-control utterly.

“Anthea! “ bellowed, ”AN-THE- A!”

Unlike Mycroft, the woman didn’t seem either impressed nor scared by the writers’ shouts. She appeared at the door, undaunted, still staring at the screen.

“Have you asked Mycroft not to bring me another scotch?”

She nodded.

“AND CAN I KNOW WHY?!!!!” Donovan feared for a moment the man suffered a stroke. His face was red with anger, his breathing was short and his blood pressure must be sky-high. What had happened to Doctor Watson? This man was a raging bomb about to explode.

Anthea looked through Donovan before answering.

“You ordered it.”

“I DIDN’T!”

“Yes, you did, right after the presentation at Birmingham, remember?“ She emphasized the last word, undoubtedly implying something related to both the writer’s bad temper and alcohol. Mycroft seemed about hiding himself under the table while the doctor made a visible effort to regain self-control. Donovan observed him, fascinated. It was like watching Kraken trying to calm itself down.

“Get out, BOTH OF YOU!” he finally commanded. Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief and ran out of the room. The writer focused again on his papers. Donovan cleared his throat (once more!), cautiously.

“Why are you still here?“

“Because you haven’t answered me yet.”

“I thought it was a joke. The Yard hate my books.”

“I wasn’t joking. We really need you to prevent more people from being murdered.”

“I…”

Anthea reappeared at the door. Donovan wondered if the woman would be really able to take her eyes from her smartphone.

“The cab is waiting.”

Watson nodded and picked up some documents.

“The book-sign ends at eight. We can discuss it while having dinner here in the hotel. The restaurant.“ He clarified.

Donovan stirred uncomfortably.

“Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not flirting with you.” Watson got up from his chair, picked up a cane that was resting on the edge of the table and, limping visibly, joined Anthea. ”I'm gay. And even if I weren’t, you're not my type.”

And he left the room, leaving an angry and flushed Donovan behind him. How was it possible that John Watson had become even more hideous than Holmes himself?

She turned around. In the other room Mycroft Holmes was throwing several bottles in a bag, emptying ashtrays and placing magazines and papers scattered everywhere.

“Is he always like that?”

The man gulped and nodded forcefully. Then shook his head.

“It’s worse when he drinks.” He whispered and looked around as if he feared someone was listening.

“You could find another job.“ Donovan couldn’t help feel pity for the man.

Mycroft dropped the bag, appalled.

“You can’t leave John Watson if you want to succeed in the literary world.”

“So you are a writer, also?”

Mycroft cracked a smile.

“A kind of.”

Donovan wasn’t able to picture Mycroft using his imagination to plot a story, even though she tried her best.

“What happened in Birmingham?”

The man's face turned white as paper.

“No ... I can't… er. It is confidential.”

Donovan nodded.

“Have you ever worked for the British government?”

“One summer I worked at the Town Hall, at the tourist office, if that counts.

Donovan covered her face with her hands. She felt dizzy, frustrated, scared and had the feeling that everything was going from bad to worse. She looked at poor Mycroft, scared like a fawn. Shit. In some parallel universe, Sherlock Holmes was roaring of laughter.

“You’d better not be late,” the man advised.

“What for?”

“Your appointment with Mr. Watson. He hates waiting.”

“Is there anything that he doesn’t hate?”

Mycroft let out a shy laugh.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

_Arrrrgggggghhhhh_h. Donovan clenched her fists.

“Mr. Watson is only happy when he writes. Then he becomes calm and affable, the way he was before returning from Afghanistan, after the… shot. But when he ends the book... he runs wild, alcohol, sleepless nights...”

“Where does he live?”

“Here, at the hotel. Before become famous, after coming from the war, he lived with his sister, but they didn't get along very well. ”He looked again on both sides. That man was paranoid. ”When he started selling books he looked for a rental apartment, but he didn't find any that he liked, so he decided to stay here. But I’m not sure how much time…”

“You and Anthea also live here?”

He shook his head.

“No, but lately, we spend more time here than we should.”

“Why?”

New check of the walls.

“His publisher advised him to end this Sherlock Holmes’ collection and start a new saga. Since then, he spends more time drunk than sober, and it’s getting increasingly uncontrolled.” His tone became more confidential. ”He is looking for another publishing house that allows him to continue with the detective's collection, and we both are praying for him to find it and calm down. Otherwise ...,“ he looked frightened. “He is a good man, but he, well… he had endured a lot.

He shook his head. It was undeniable that, despite the constant mistreatment he suffered, that man appreciated John Watson. And Donovan couldn't help feeling sorry for the doctor. She had always liked him. Moreover, she felt attracted by him from the very first moment she met him in the case of the serial suicide, coming along with the freak. To tell the truth, she wouldn’t have minded getting to know the doctor better, in every way.

But the good doctor only had eyes for the freak and never paid attention to any of her advances or suggestions, forcing her to settle for Anderson.

She shook his head, trying to dispel old painful memories. She said goodbye to Mycroft and came out to the street. She checked her phone. Ten calls from the Chief Superintendent, four from Anderson and two from Dimmock. Great. All went from bad to worse. She should go back to Scotland Yard.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donovan requests Lestrade's help

She rushed between her subordinates’ desks and locked herself in her office. Sally ignored Dimmock knocking on the door and kicked Anderson out when he tried to enter with that silly smile on his face.

She sat down and sighed, discouraged. Someone had left on her desk some newspapers front pages. All of them showed pictures of her running away from the press conference, along with headlines about how the inability of the ID to stop the serial killer was increasing the defencelessness of Londoners.

Next, a handwritten note from the Chief Superintendent:

“You have forty eight hours”

She cursed Zoltar. No. One moment. She had the chance of her life and couldn’t ruin in. Shew will prove everyone that she could solve the crimes without the freak’s help.

Allies, she needed allies. Specially Lestrade. She ran out from the office and went down to the archive. The former DI was putting on his coat.

“I'm leaving.” he stated before Donovan could open her mouth.

“Would you like to meet John Watson?”

Lestrade looked at her, speechless.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to have dinner with him this evening. I think he could help us solve the case.”

He pursed his lips.

“You won't give in to anything, will you?”

Donovan gulped.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean?“ He mocked, mimicking her. “You know it perfectly. Oh, you are running out of ideas, aren’t you? I never thought you could be so cynical.”

“I don’t know…”

“Oh, you do, you truly do. You know what? I should run to the Chief Supervisor and tell him that you are so incompetent that you need external consultancy. At least, that is what you tell him when I, coincidentally, proposed something similar while we were dealing with the serial suicides case, in order to get it solved. You said that I needed external advice due to my lack of skills as DI.” Lestrade was panting hard, anger bubbling inside him. Finally he shook his head, feeling battered. “And now you want John Watson to be some kind of consultant, like Sherlock Holmes in his novels, though in them, he is the world only consulting detective.”

Donovan felt the bile in her mouth. And the sadness. It really hurt her watching him so defeated. She really wanted to became DI, but not at the expense of Lestrade' misfortune.

“I thought you could help me to convince him.”

The man ran his hand through his hair. A glow that Donovan could not decipher crossed his gaze. He sank his shoulders.

“I offered you my help when the murders began but you rejected it.” He whispered in a rush voice.

Donovan lowered his head.

“I know, I was a complete idiot. But I can't solve the case by myself. I need your help.”

Lestrade remained silent for a moment, eyes fixed nowhere. Donovan knew that he was fighting an internal battle and was confident that the generosity of the man and the desire tof returning to the front line of the fight against crime would win his wounded pride. She just waited.

“At What time? Where?

“At eight in the ...“ She swallowed. “Holmes Hotel.” God, her dream of a world without Sherlock had become an X file where the detective invaded everything. “Shall we meet at the door?”

“Like a date? Don’t even dream about it. See you at the restaurant.” Her former boss climbed the stairs until he disappeared from her view. She never thought Lestrade could hold such a grudge against someone. Maybe because he hadn't had reasons to do it. He hated her. And that made her feeling guilty and awful.

She was startled to notice a pair of hands on her waist. It was Anderson, trying to kiss her neck.

“I've told you it a thousand times: not at work!”

“But now you are DI. You promised me, remember?”

“No.”

Anderson's face darkened.

“You promised me that if I helped you to achieve to be DI we would have sex in your office, and that it would be the best sex of my life.”

Donovan rubbed her eyes, tiredly.

Anderson twisted his head furiously.

“You weren’t lying, were you?”

Donovan shook his head. Anderson was a redesigned moron, just as Sherlock shouted from the rooftops. But he also was a twisted person, with a special talent for finding the other’s weaknesses. Not surprisingly, he was who found the insults that hurt the freak the most, no matter how much the fool in the coat tried to pretend that he didn't care. It was not a good idea to have Anderson as an enemy.

“Of course I haven’t forgotten,” her tone softened, ”as soon as we solve this case.

“When we solve ...? But it is impossible!”

“Then knuckle down on it.” Donovan's smile turned cold. ”Find me something that will lead us to the culprit and you will have your prize.“ She purred.

“It was not that…”

“Of course not. But this will be much better than my previous offer.” She whispered in the man's ear.

The forensic smiled broadly, nodded and tried to give her one last kiss. Donovan leaned back.

“No, no, no, when you do your part” she ran a finger over his lips” if I were you, I would go back to your desk and won’t until you found something that would lead us to the Vampire.”

“And you?”

“I have to follow a new line of investigation.”

“Which one?”

“You'll know soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,  
Thanks for every single kudos and comment. I really appreciate it. I hope you'll keep on enjoying the story :-)


	5. Your books saved my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson met Greg Lestrade and share confidences

John Watson went down to the hotel restaurant and sat at his usual table, at the back of the room, hidden enough to be able to enjoy his dinner quietly without a crowd of fans pouncing on him, but strategically placed to observe the rest of the guests.

He dropped on the sit and left the cane on the next seat. His leg hurt more than usual. Like the shoulder. And his heart.

He cursed himself. He shouldn't have invited that cop to dinner. He didn’t like her, although he had no apparent reason for it. But he didn't want to have dinner alone, not that night, and any company, even that woman, was welcomed. Anything to close the door to the memories clustered in the attic of his memory, now trying to come to the light again. Memories that, as much as he insisted on drowning in alcohol, always managed to float.

He felt a lump in his throat and tears gathered in his eyes. God. Five years had passed since… and it still hurt like the first day. When he returned from Afghanistan, his therapist assured him that the pain would pass, as well as the guilt. But they didn’t. The pain remained the same, but the guilt that drowned his heart grew every day. He squeezed his eyes and shook his head, repeating the advices his therapist had given him to bear that weight. None of them worked. Because, as much as his therapist insisted on ensuring otherwise, he was the only one to blame for it. Because he was who insisted on…

“Mr. Watson?”

A tall, grey haired man stood before him. He had his latest novel in his hands and looked at him with that mixture of expectation and admiration that never ceased to surprise him. Instinctively he looked for a pen.

“Do you want me to sign it?”

The man nodded, ecstatic, leaving the book on the table.

“What is your name?”

“Greg Lestrade.”

John wrote one of the dedications so many times repeated. The readers would kept it as a relic, but for him they were only empty words. At first it was not so. Before being famous, he put his heart in every book he dedicated. But that night, after more than two hours chatting with readers, signing and listening to the same stories, he felt himself incapable to do it. He smiled at the man and handed him the book. Lestrade did not move. John looked at him, questioningly.

“Oh! Thank you very much for the book! It is an honour to meet you!”

Watson stirred in his seat. Why didn't the man leave him alone?

“I know you'll meet here with DI Donovan. She thought that I ... it would be good if I joined you.“

The doctor raised an eyebrow, surprised and amused at the same times. He didn't know why, but he liked that man. And it wouldn't hurt him to have a fellow with whom share a drink. He invited him to sit down. Lestrade felt for a moment like he were going to faint, but he managed to regain his composure.

“Are you from Scotland Yard?”

“Yes, I was the DI before Donovan.”

“Did you resign?”

“Let's say they invited me to leave my position.”

John nodded without adding anything else. The man's hurt tone made it clear that the situation was not easy for him.

“It is great that she has such a good relationship with his successor.” It was a shot in the dark, but from the rictus in the mouth of his interlocutor he knew he hit the mark

Lestrade hesitated a few moments but in the end he thought, what the hell!

“If I am sincere, there is no generosity on my part. I’m helping her only because it gave me the chance to meet you.”

Watson smiled, smug and mocked at the same time.

“Well, I'm glad you did. What do you want to drink?”

“Hmmm, same as you.”

John gestured to the waiter and ordered the drink.

Lestrade cleared his throat and blushed slightly.

“Your books have saved my life.”

“I thought in NSY everyone hated my books. And how they helped you?”

“When I was dismissed as DI, I was shattered. Not because of the dismissal itself; from the day I reach the position, I knew what could happen. But I never thought my team could betray me.”

“Raise crows ..., I guess all of it captained by your friend Donovan.”

The other man nodded.

“I was astonished. I had always tried to be a good boss, facilitate their work and avoid them to feel the pressure from the superiors. Within what they offered me, I looked for the best men and women.”

“And the most ambitious.”

“Ambition is not bad.”

“Unless it is intermingled with envy.”

Lestrade watched him with narrowing his eyes.

“You are much smarter than you seem.”

John laughed out loud.

“I don't know whether to take it as a compliment or an insult.”

“Like a compliment, of course,” he shook his head, ”at least much smarter than me. I didn’t see it coming. And when I realized it, I was in the Chief Superintended office with Donovan listing, one after another, my many failures as DI,” he swallowed hard, ”it was a nightmare, something unreal.”

“And where did you were transfer?”

“To the archive. I spend the day searching through boxes of unclosed case documents, which… “ Suddenly he fell silent and blushed even more. ”I'm sorry ... I don't know why I’m telling you all this. I haven’t had a drink for a long time and my tongue is released. I must seem you pathetic, sharing my sorrows just after meeting you.”

“By no means. In fact, I had my theories about Donovan, and I wanted to confirm them. She has the perfect personality for a great novel character.”

“You won't write about this in your books, will you? I don't need more problems.”

“Of course not. Trust me. But you haven’t answered my question. How my books saved your life?”

“I got depressed, feeling so bad… I didn’t find anything to help me to keep on waking up, coming to work…, all seemed senseless to me. One day, at the tube, someone forgot his book on the seat. I took the book, sat there and started reading. I got hooked. And the invectives Sherlock Holmes threw to the Yards… I pictured him throwing them to Donovan and Anderson, and, it’s silly, but I felt better. As if Holmes were cleaning my name…, doing justice or something like that.“ He smiled, a bit embarrassed and looked and John. Surprisingly, he found understanding in John’s eyes. He nodded unnoticeably.

“Thanks a lot for sharing your story with me,“ the writer said, “it really inspires me to keep on writing.”

“Of course you should do it!“ Assure Lestrade. “You...

He stop talking and turned to look at Donovan, who approached them with a determined step.

“Good evening,” she greeted, sitting down in front of both of them. “Apologies for the delay.”

“Problems in the Met?”

“A lot of work” she replied simply. He gestured to the waiter. ”The same as them.

“I didn't know you liked scotch.”

“I don't indeed but I need something strong. The Chief Superintendent gave me forty eight hours to resolve the case.”

“Better go packing, then” Lestrade scoffed.

In response Donovan took out a dossier and handed it to John.

“This is all we have on the case. Of course, my team is still working on it.”

“With the same results as always, I see.” Lestrade retorted. John snort.

Donovan frowned.

“Who do you think you are, Sherlock Holmes? Do you believe you turned into the reincarnation of that freak?”

John, who until then had limited himself to watching both contestants fighting, leaned forward to bring his face as close as possible to Donovan's.

“What did you say?” He whistled through his teeth.

Donovan forced herself to fight the urge to back off.

“Freak.” She spat.

“GET OUT OF HERE!” The restaurant fell silent after John's outburst and all the faces turned to look at them.

“I SAID GET…”

“Lower your tone, Mr. Watson, please.”

Donovan and Lestrade turned to look at the woman who, wearing the hotel uniform, seemed unimpressed by the writer’s shouts, who, surprisingly, lowered both his head and tone.

“But she…“ started.

“John, we are delighted that you are staying with us, but, as the director of this hotel, I must request you to moderate your tone.” She looked sideways at the glasses on the table.” Otherwise, I’m afraid I should ask you to leave the restaurant.”

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson.” Donovan and Lestrade looked at John, surprised. Who would have said that this man, contrite and calm, was the same who minutes before threatened with an anger explosion of cosmic proportions? ”It won't happen again, I assure it to you.”

“You better, young man” Mrs. Hudson smiled benevolently. ”Nice to see you with friends, but I don't want arguments, okay?” She made a sign to a waiter, who approached quickly. ”The alcohol is over on this table, okay?

John opened his mouth, but closed it due to Mrs. Hudson's warning look. He did not know why, but that woman made him feel as if he was fourteen years old again and the director had caught him playing truant. He nodded and leaned back in the seat. He waited for Mrs. Hudson to leave to face Donovan again.

“Don't call him that again.”

“But he is a fiction ….” Words froze in her throat when he saw Anderson entering the restaurant and approaching her.


	6. If you don't have super-powers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new victim appears and, finally, the Yards find some fingerprints that could allow them to arrest the culprit. But John Watson tear the joy down.

Anderson opened his eyes, surprised, when he noticed Lestrade and even more when he looked at John.

“What's going on here?”

“We are working.” Lestrade replied dryly.

“I haven't asked you, archivist.”

The former DI flushed with anger.

“It is incredible how much disrespect reigns in your department, DI Donovan” John replied. He turned to Anderson” I understand this man was your superior, and only for that you owe him some respect.

“And who are you?”

“John Watson.”

“The writer?” He looked at Donovan, bewildered. ”Is this your new line of research? Going out for dinner with Lestrade and with this ... this writer who only try to denigrate us?”

Donovan watched him, between surprised and amused. Since when did Anderson put the pieces together so fast? Even the freak would have be amazed.

“It is none of your business. Why did you come here?”

“It's about the case” he whispered confidentially.

Lestrade and John laughed in unison. For a moment, Donovan felt as if everything had returned to normality, to the previous world where John and Greg were great friends who shared nights of pints and confidences before arriving stumbling at their respective homes. She couldn't help feeling certain nostalgia for it.

“They are aware of the case.”

“Are you crazy? If the Chief Superintendent finds out ...”

“Anderson, thanks for your input.” Interrupted Lestrade, causing even more loud laughter from John, who recognized the sentence from one of his books.

"As I said, they are aware about it. What do you want?”

“Another victim. And this time we have fingerprints.”

“How…?”

“I've called you on the phone a thousand times, but you haven't picked it up. So I came to tell you. The Chief Superintendent got mad.”

“Why haven’t you say that first?” Donovan got up like a spring. “Let's go.”

“We’ll go with you” Lestrade suggested. ”It would be good to see the crime scene before Anderson destroys it with his shoes.”

“I wear the regulatory booties.”

“Yes, but you don't look where you step.”

Anderson shot him a burning look.

“Enough! Everyone shut up and get into the car!” Donovan ordered. She was starting to understand Lestrade's exasperation when she and Sherlock engaged in endless taunt duels.

Sally opened the march, followed by Anderson, Lestrade and John.

Police car lights were reflected in the yellow police tape. It was a small four floor apartments building and, according to the first interviews with potential witnesses, no neighbour had heard anything strange, noises, no fights, no screams ... but there, lying on the floor of his apartment was the woman’s still bleeding body. She must be in her thirties. Several officers searched for footprints and other biological remains around the room.

“Have you colated the fingerprint?”

“They are doing it now.”

“Hopefully it is in the database.”

“It won't do you any good” John intervened. All heads turned to look at him. He clenched his cane fist, a bit ashamed for being in the spotlight. “Maybe to catch the poor devil who wanted to hide his girlfriend's murder as another crime of the serial killer, but little else.”

“How do you know that?” Lestrade was surprised.

“It's obvious, isn't it?”

“No, it is not!” Donovan replied, fly off the handle.” If it were obvious, we wouldn't ask you!”

John sighed.

“It's simple. The victims of the serial killer are totally bled, hence the cerulean colour of the bodies. This woman, however, judging by the white-pink tone of her skin, still retains blood in her body. An improvised botch made in a short space of time.

“How do you know that?” Greg repeated.

John laughed bitterly.

“Formerly, I was a doctor.”

“You never stop being a doctor.”

“I said formerly!” he turned to Donovan. ”It was a pleasure to play the detectives with you, but I have to go.”

John headed for the elevator, hitting hard the ground with his cane at every step. When the doors were about to close, Lestrade slipped between them.

“You should stay with them.”

“Let them manage. You seem to need me much more.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, just like me.“ retorted Greg.

John shook his head and smiled in spite of himself.

“Are you hungry? In the end we have run out of dinner.”

“Chinese? We can take away and have dinner at my hotel.”

“Perfect.”

“I know a great one” Lestrade looked at both sides of the street. ”It would be nice to have now that ability that Sherlock Holmes has to make taxi appear out of nowhere.”

“Oh, I can do it too” John replied.

“Seriously?”

John smiled mockingly, took his phone and opened the app to order a taxi.

“That’s cheating!” Lestrade protested, amused.

“If you don't have super powers..”.


	7. The most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's Afghanistan backstory

A while later they both were at John's hotel, sitting on the couch, enjoying dinner.

They were barefoot, feet on the coffee table, phones tossed over the floor, eating silently for a while.

“Can I ask you something?“ finally said Lestrade. ”You don’t have to answer it if you don’t feel for it.”

John nodded.

“About not being a doctor anymore, does it have something to do with how you got mad at Donovan for what she said about your protagonist?”

John's gaze darkened. He left the food carton on the table.

“Why are you saying that?”

“Well…, I got the impression that…, Nobody would defend a fictional character like you did, so I assume that your Sherlock Holmes is based on someone real. Because of how hard you stood up for him, he must be very important to you. And if he is not here with you and you are no longer a doctor ... something really bad happened, didn't it?”

John swallowed and started gasping. Lestrade stirred uncomfortably. May be he shouldn't have asked, but the writer seemed so sad…

“I met him in Afghanistan,” John began in a monotonous voice, “I was Captain in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. At a given point, we started to participate in a secret mission in collaboration with the US Army, which in turn collaborated with the FBI. Well, not exactly with the FBI; but with someone who advised the FBI, and that’s how I met William.“ He smiled, sad and fondly at the same time. ”He was, in his own words, _the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all”round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet_.”

Lestrade chuckled. He remembered readinh that quote in one of John's books. “I don’t know why, but I found him fascinating. He was a true genius. He just had to take a look at you and could deduce your whole life within seconds.” He shook his head, amused. ”He didn't know either how to shut his mouth, so he wasn’t very popular.

“William was very pale in skin so, during the day he did not leave the barracks other than the essential. At night, however, he used to walk around the base and the surroundings, to the despair of the sentinels and those blokes who had to protect him. He misled them with an astonishing easiness and reappeared as if he had been walking through Central park. His bodyguards went mad, shouted at him, trying to make him see it wasn’t sure for him to go out by himself, but he didn’t mind. I think he found it funny, like a game of cat and mouse. And he really was good at it.

“One night, when I was on a night guard, he came to my post and asked me for a cigarette. We started talking and we discover we enjoyed each other company. So, from that day, he came to my post and we talked until dawn. Then I went to sleep while he stayed awake. He was somehow like a dolphin: one of his cerebral hemispheres was still functioning while the other one was sleeping.”

“And I guess it wasn't just a friendship.”

John remained silent for a while, remembering.

“At first it was, but soon, we fell madly in love with each other. It wasn’t easy. In the army it is still difficult to accept that your partner or your superior is gay, and even more so that someone’s boyfriend runs around the base. So we kept it secret. You know, hiding for kissing each other until we were out of breath, looking for solitary places to have sex… It was hard, but really exciting at the same time

“William had a devilish facility to find hiding places in the rocks near the base, and we spent there the nights, making love, chatting, arguing ... like any other couple.

John lowered his head and quickly wiped away the tears that started rolling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…” apologized Greg.

“It’s ok.“ Muttered John.

Lestrade nodded and remained silent, giving him time to regain himself and to found his words.

“One day, I was commanded to go on patrol for a couple of weeks. I didn't want to be away from William, so I asked him to come with me, pretending that he had to something to investigate or so. I wish I hadn't.”

“What happened?

“On the third day, I was driving a jeep and William was sat next to me. Suddenly, several snipers started shooting the convoy. William pounced on me, to serve me as a human-shield. Thanks to him, I only got shot in the shoulder.“ John gulped. “He wasn’t so lucky. He got shot in the abdomen and the chest. Our comrades dragged us out of the vehicle and left us in the gutter.“ He stared vacantly at some point on the wall. ”I couldn’t do anything for him. I, who had saved hundreds of soldiers life’s, couldn’t save my loved one.“ With every word, he hit his temples with his fists. ”I only was able to hold him in my arms until he died.”

Watson's bitter laugh surprised Lestrade.

“I asked him to endure, to not die, assuring him that help would arrive on time, although, as a doctor, I knew he couldn’t survive. And, do you know what the git told me? _Everybody dies, John. It's the one thing human beings can be relied upon to do_.”

Lestrade laughed in spite of himself.

“Then he gripped me tightly, he said he loved me, and that he will be waiting for me and ...” John sobbed. ”If I hadn’t asked him to coming with me ... if I had let him stay in the army base ... he would still be alive.”


	8. Allow you to be yourself again, John Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade is truly a good friend

“You couldn't know what was going to happen.”

“I knew it was dangerous.” He wiped his tears in anger. ”But I never thought… I never thought he would give… He left me alone.”

“You're angry with him for saving your life?”

John looked at him, surprised.

“That's what my therapist said. I can’t help it. He was the best thing ever happened to me and, suddenly, I had to learn to live without him. It is not fair.”

“And when you came back, why didn't you work as a doctor?”

“The bullet shattered my collarbone, so I couldn’t be a surgeon any more, my true vocation. I looked for a job, but nobody saw a doctor in me, just a war invalid. They only saw my limp, the tremor in my hand, my damaged arm, my broken soul… Finally I got a job at a small clinic, but I lost it. “He pointed at the bottles.

“And then you became a writer.”

John shrugged.

“Molly, my therapist, told me it would be a good idea to write about my feelings, about what happened ... I tried, but I couldn't. But one day, reading one of the Yard’s cases in the press, I thought I could transfer William’s job with the FBI to a consultant for NSY. And that's how it all began.”

He got up and poured some scotch in a glass.

“Now they want me to end with the saga. But that would be like killing him a second time.”

“Maybe it's the best you could do.”

John looked at him as if Lestrade had slapped him.

“What do you mean?” He muttered between his teeth, anger started to boiling inside him.

“Do you think William gave his life for you so you could end up like this, alcoholic, hating yourself, angry with him and with the entire world?”

“You are not entitled to…”

“Of course I am. Because if I were William, I would be really disappointed with you. You were lucky. You found something that only very few people have in this life, true love He loved you so much that he gave his life for you. And then, you waste yours by pitying and destroying yourself. William must be really angry with you.”

John got up slowly and approached Lestrade. Although the former DI was taller, the doctor, with his military training, had no problem in holding him with one hand by the throat and pushing him to the wall. Greg grabbed John's arm with both of his hands, trying to loosen the pressure on his throat, but the doctor's arm seemed made of iron.

“Do you really think you can come here and give me lessons about my life?“ He hissed. ”You have no right to talk about William! Yes, he was the love of my life! And I lost him, because he decided my life was more valuable than his. It should be me who must have died in that ambush and not him! Fuck! The bastard left me alone!

Lestrade face was turning red and it was getting harder for him to breathe. He seriously started fearing for his life, because the doctor hand hadn’t moved a millimetre. John finally looked at him and, realizing the situation, released the grip on him. Lestrade put his hands to his throat and coughed, catching his breath.

John sat again in the couch, face buried his hands, sobbing. Greg felt sorry for him. No doubt he had suffered a lot, but it wasn’t fair for him to destroy himself in that way.

The former DI approached slowly and, not sure why, hugged him. John stiffened, but then rested his head on the chest of the former ID and continued to cry, letting out all the pain he had kept for so long. Lestrade hesitantly put his hand on his head and stroked his hair, as if he were a child. Gradually John calmed down, until he pulled away from Greg, ashamed. He smiled affectionately.

“Prick.” John growled. He hesitated a few moments.”Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“As I told you before, you saved my life. Before reading your books, I was in a spiral of self-destruction similar like yours. On the other hand, my life is ordinary but yours… yours is really precious, as it was for William. He didn’t leave you alone. He wanted you to live, because of how much he loved you.”

“But he shouldn’t…”

“John, imagine for a second that William could walk through that door right now and look at you. How would he feel? He wanted you to go ahead, to keep on dreaming, smiling, crying, feeling… to keep on living, in sum. If you insist on destroying yourself as you are currently doing, his sacrifice won’t have been worth.”

“I let him down.“ John whispered, hopeless, shaking his head. “I have let him down.”

“But you have the opportunity to amend it.”

“But how…? How…? It’s too late, now. How could I fix the mess my life has turned into?”

“Going back to the point when all started to be wrong.”

John looked at him, frowning.

“I don’t understand… Do you mean going back to Afghanistan? I can’t go back there!”

“No, I mean it in a figurative meaning. Go back after William’s death. Forgive yourself, forgive and thanks him for your second chance and make your life as fulfilling as it would be if William were still by your side.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be capable of…”

“It’s not a question of you being capable or not. You owe it to William. He didn’t fall in love with the man you are now. He fell in love with the man you were before. The man you still are, without all this anger, grief, sadness and alcohol. Allow you to be yourself again, John Watson.”

John looked at Lestrade, speechless.

“You are awesome.“ He managed to say.”

“Well, in your books, Sherlock Holmes says the DI with whom he is working is the less stupid one of all the Yard. If you were referring to me, that has to mean something.“ He mocked.

John laughed, eyes still full of tears.

“Will you help me to achieve it?”

"Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters to go! :-)


	9. Getting back when all started going wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally try to amend her mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more to go!

Donovan was at her apartment, lying on her bed. Like John predicted, they didn’t arrested the serial killer. Thought this case was important, the main one remained unsolved, and another victim could appear at any moment.

She was weeping uncontrollably. Nothing was happening like she had imagined it when she made her wish. She wished to appear in all newspapers front pages, and she did, but to be pointed like the most incapable of all the previous DI’s. She wished to talk to the Chief Superintendent, and she did, only to be shouted by him. She wished Lestrade taught to her all his knowledge as DI, but he loathed her.

However, that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst part had been the conversation between John and Greg she just heard. After both of them left the crime scene altogether, Donovan requested the office in charge of the computer-related crime department to activate the micro of Lestrade’s phone. She did it because she thought both men could haven’t tell her all their… their (she was looking for a different word, but finally her mind had to pronounce it with a shiver) ”_deductions_” and she wanted to find if they had keeping some clue for themselves.

But instead of it, she heard John’s heart-breaking story. She felt like the worst person in the world. She wanted to be a DI more than anything, but not that way. Not when everyone around her was depressed, mourning and suffering. By making that wish, she had turned both men lives to hell. And the officers at New Scotland Yard hadn’t been luckier. All of them were at risk of being fired. And all of that was her fault.

Now she was able to see it. She had always thought that Lestrade humbled himself in front of the freak due to his lack of ambition. But it was completely the opposite.

As a DI, Greg had only a goal: to solve as many crimes and possible and, doing this, to prevent further ones to be committed. And he had the intelligence of working with the freak without being jealous of him, like herself and Anderson, or try to compete or beat him. Greg, on the contrary, admired and respected the freak’s talents and seek his help in order to achieve his goal. So he was, in the end, the cleverest officer in the whole New Scotland Yard. And therefore, he truly deserved to be DI, though that would mean that they had to cope with (no, no, she had a new point of view) to work with Holm… Holm… Holmes! (she found really hard to use the freak’s surname. No, no the freak. Ufff! That was going to be hard).

So following Lestrade’s advice to John, she had to get back when things started going wrong.

She took her phone and surfed Internet for a while. Finally she took the keys of the car, got into it and drove at full speed to her destiny. She will achieve the DI position someday. But she would do it in the correct way.

She had never felt so alive.

Two hours later, she arrive to the small village where the fair was settled. It was three in the morning, and the fairground was desert. Donovan took a coin and clenched it in her hand. She wandered to the attractions, knowing Zoltar wouldn’t be in the most popular zones of the fairground.

She had been walking for more than an hour and she was getting frantic, since she hadn’t been able to find Zoltar. What if the attraction had been cancelled, or even worse, destroyed? She felt about crying.

Then she saw it.

The kiosk have been cornered in a dead end. Donovan stopped in front of it and started pressing all buttons, trying to switch it on. But the attraction remained off.

“Come on!.“ muttered, frantically kicking and punching the kiosk. “Please, come on!”

She stopped for a moment, trying to put her thoughts together. She looked at the electrical wire. Plugged. She pulled, unplugging it.

She waited, holding her breath.

Then Zoltar eyes became red and the attraction came to live. The lights went on and Zoltar was opening and closing his mouth.

She inserted the coin and aimed at Zoltar’s mouth, made her wish and press the button to release the coin. Like the first time, she got the card.

She put it on her pocket and run through her car, wishing with all her heart it had worked.

Donovan arrived at home. She got herself into bed, hoping to sleep at least a couple of hours before starting off the day.

She woke up at nine o’clock, had a shower, sipped a bit of coffee and went to New Scotland Yard. She was smiling hopefully.

But her smiled become unsure when she arrived to Greg’s office and he wasn’t there, and the amount of folders stacked around the table had increased regarding the previous day.

“Where is Lestrade?“ Asked to Dimmock.

“In the Archive, as usual.”

She froze. It hadn’t worked. How…? Donovan felt a lump in her throat, thousands of questions running through her brain. Maybe it was too late? Maybe it was some kind of unspoken condition that had made her first wish immutable?

Slowly, she went down the stairs towards the Archive.


	10. Until you beg for food

Lestrade was sat on the floor, surrounded by boxes, folders, papers… his hair was even more grey than usual due to the dust, and his dark trousers were also greyish. A fine cloud of little particles surrounded him as he flipped the pages of several reports.

Donovan sighed and approached him. The former DI looked exhausted.

“May I help you?”

Lestrade looked at her, surprised.

“Do you actually want to?”

“Of course.”

“Of course?“ Lestrade looked awestruck. “Are you ok?

Donovan snuffled.

“As if you care.”

Lestrade left the dusty papers on the ground and stood up.

“Look, I understand that looking for a file that Sherlock requested…”

Sally freeze.

“What did you say?”

The man looked at her, concerned and upset at the same time. He didn’t have time for riddles.

“Go to your desk and…”

“No, no, no, what did you say? The exact words?”

““I understand that looking for a file that Sherlock requested.” recited Greg.

“When did Sherlock asked for the file?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Answer me. When. did. Sherlock. request the file?”

“Early this morning. Around five. The git… He doesn’t care the rest of the humans need sleeping.“ He complained.

Donovan laughed, relieved. Then stopped abruptly.

“Are you still the DI, then?”

“OK, enough. I want you to go home and rest.“ Ordered Lestrade.

Donovan laughed maniacally. She was so relieved! Then she got serious again. This time the DI truly feared Donovan was near a nervous breakdown. It wouldn’t be unusual, due to the exhaustion of the vampire’s case.

“I’ve never thanked you for being such a great boss and a greater person.“ Lestrade flushed deeply. He was used to be considered weak and somehow dumb by his team, mainly to all that was related to Sherlock Holmes. “I know now that it takes great courage and intelligence accepting that other people can be smarter, better skilled than ourselves, or even a fucking genius. And even accepting it, don’t get jealous, envious or frightened of them, but let them doing their best. I truly admire you for that. And though I will never admit I have said what I’m going to say, even under torture, I’m glad you decided let Holmes work with us, or to be more accurate, letting us work with him. Or for him. Whatever.”

Lestrade stared at her for a few minutes, jaw dropped. He knew Sally enough to know she would never say anything she didn’t think. He smiled weakly. After such a long time, it felt great someone gave him credit.

Sally looked again to the ground.

“What are you looking for, then?”

“Sherlock texted.“ New burst of laughter from Sally who refrained herself from clapping only due to Lestrade’s suspicious gaze. “Five years ago there were three similar homicides. The only difference is that the perpetrator only draw a small quantity of blood from the victims, Holmes knows the exact amount. I didn’t pay attention,“ he chuckled, “the case was never resolved.“

He sat down in the floor again, old cases files between his legs. Sally sat next to him and both looked through the papers. From time to time, Lestrade monitored her, especially when she started humming. When Donovan started working for him, she used to hum the whole time, which almost drove him crazy. After a while, she stopped doing it, till today. The DI shrugged to himself. Whatever was the cause, he enjoyed the happy Donovan sitting alongside him.

Sally skimmed the reports, looking for the one Sherlock requested. If she was honest with herself, the idea of bearing again with the detective didn’t fancy her, but she had realized how much the Yard owe him. Being capable of not trying to contend with him or not being jealous of the mind-blowing detective’s brain was another story, but, at least, she was willing to do it.

“¡Here it is!“ She exclaimed, waving the papers.

“Great!“ He took his phone and texted Sherlock.

Both climbed the stairs to Lestrade’s office. The DI requested to officers to get back the rest of the boxes to the Archive.

“Anderson“ called Lestrade“ in two minutes we go to the crime scene.

“It’s still the four victim, isn’t it?“ Asked Sally.

“How many do you want?”

“You are learning manners from Holmes, have you noticed it?”

Lestrade smirked.

Soon the three of them, altogether with three more officers were at the warehouse when the last victim have been found. Though the forensics of the Yard have already done their job, Lestrade requested his team not touch anything. He knew the detective would want to analyse the crime scene by himself.

Around five minutes later, a cab stopped in the street nearby. Sherlock get out of it, while John paid the fare. The detective approached the yellow tape with large strides, Belstaff coat fluttering in the wind, blue scarf around his neck. John run from the cab to reach Sherlock and held his hand, making the taller man blush.

Donovan hated to admit she was glad to see the consulting detective again.

“Donovan“ greeted Sherlock.

“Holmes”.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked at her, but didn’t say anything.

“John, may I have a word with you?“ Asked Sally.

Both men looked at each other. Sherlock nodded almost imperceptibly and kept on walking. Watson turn on his heels in order to face Donovan, who could swear John looked at her colder than usual. She cleared her throat.

“I wanted to apologize you for calling him a freak.

Watson seemed a bit lost.

“I don’t think it’s ME who you should apologize.

“Yes, I know“ Sally’s tone was something like _I will do it when I’m ready for it_. “But I owe you an apologize too. I didn’t realize that, when I insulted him, I was also hurting you.”

“So I guess you know you should apologize for something more.”

Sally frowned, not knowing where John wanted to go. He rolled his eyes in great imitation of Sherlock when they don’t understand any of his deductions.

“The first time I met you, you warned me against him, saying a lot of awful things about Sherlock. If I had believed you, today we wouldn’t be together. So I demand you never do it again.”

Donovan lowered her head, ashamed.

“I’m really sorry about that.“ She whispered. “I only hope you could forgive me.

John eyes softened and smiled.

“I committed my own mistakes with Sherlock too, so I’m not the one to judge you, but I thank you for realizing it and apologize.”

She smiled sadly. God! That wasn’t being easy, but she felt how all the rage she kept inside started dissolving.

Both of them walked where Sherlock and Lestrade were.

Sherlock was knelt near the victim, observing the woman’s neck with his magnifying glass.

“Have you shot Donovan with a tranquilizer dart?“ Muttered John standing near Lestrade.

The DI laughed, crossing an understanding look with John.

“Yeah, she is acting a bit strange today.”

John knelt next to Sherlock, so close that both their tights were touching. Sherlock gazed at John but turned his attention to the victim. Lestrade, amused, noticed how, when Sherlock moved himself an inch, John mindlessly, did the same, as if they both were glued, and this way they surrounded the body. Finally both of them stood and went at the same pace near Donovan and Greg. John with Sherlock’s hand firmly held, as if he were afraid the detective could fade away at any time.

“It’s like watching a bloody _pax a deux_” muttered Sally at Lestrade’s ear.

Lestrade hold back a guffaw. He was happy for not have to act like a WWE Smackdown referee in the usual Donovan-Holmes combat.

Sherlock extended his hand. Greg looked at him, lost. Sherlock sighed.

“The file?“ Finally asked.

“Oh, it’s in the car. I’ll…”

“John will fetch it“ the detective cut him.

Watson scowled at him but turn to Sally and both went to the car.

Sherlock looked at Lestrade with narrowed eyes.

“Why is everybody acting odd today?”

“What do you mean?”

Sherlock threw him the _really should I have to explain it to you?_ look.

“Donovan called mi Holmes, you look like the cat that ate the cream and John hasn’t withdraw from me since we woke up this morning. Not something I’m complaining of, but…”

“But?

“I can’t deduce the cause.”

“And that’s getting you mad.”

Sherlock nodded.

“Sherlock, some things in life simply can’t be explained.”

“Nonsense. I’ll figure it out.”

“Great. Have you figured out who the murderer is?”

“See? You are acting different. But I know it is due to something Sally told you.“ He smirked. “She’s been busy today”.

“What do you mean?”

“Figure it out.

“Piss off.

“Anderson!“ Shouted Sherlock.

The forensic approached them.

“What about the anticoagulant?”

“Anticoagulant?”

Sherlock sighed in relief.

“Some things never change.“ He teased.

“What are you talking about, psychopath?“ Retorted the forensic.

“Enough Anderson!“ Three voices shouted at the same time. Greg, John, and Sally were looking angrily at him.

“Since he is doing your job, you should be more respectful with him.“ John grunted.

“And you could learn something from him.“ added Sally “ you have been working with him during ten years and you are as moron as you were the first day.”

“Next time you call him something different from his name or surname, you’ll earn a suspension.“ Assure Greg.

John repressed a fit of laugher, not at Anderson’s idiotic face, but at Sherlock’s puzzle one. The doctor nudged Lestrade who in turns did the same to Donovan. The detective quickly regained his composure, while throwing John a thankful look. He wasn’t used to have others standing up for him. The doctor nodded almost unperceptively in return.

Then a black limousine stopped in the street. Mycroft and Anthea (or better said Anthea and her smartphone) got out of the car. Donovan couldn't help smiling, remembering the frightened and nervous Mycroft she met in John's hotel, totally different from the self-confident, posh man carrying an umbrella that was approximating them. Nevertheless, she swore she saw a hint of admiration when the man passed by Doctor Watson. Maybe, in real life, he was amazed how John had conquered Sherlock's heart. 

Anthea gave some documents to Sherlock. Sally couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous since Mycroft’s assistant, finally!, got her eyes from the screen and smiled the detective.

“Financial statement and medical company info.” Mycroft simply said. “Take care, little brother, and you too, doctor Watson”. And then both of them returned to the black car.

Sherlock checked them and then took the file from John’s hands, reading it quickly.

“Lestrade, go arrest their ambulatory care nurse.”

“Excuse me?”

“All the victims, current and former ones had one thing in common: they were receiving treatment on an outpatient basis from their cancer.”

“¿Cancer? ¿How could you?”

“All of them had inserted a central venous catheter, which is used in chemotherapy patients. In this case, none of them with a long life expectancy. Lonely patients, since they have no parents, family or other relatives, so they consider the ambulatory nurse the only person who really cares about them, and consequently, changed their last will in order to favour the nurse. Once it was done, she killed them.”

“But why she didn’t simply wait for them to die?“ Asked John.

“Debts.“ Sherlock waved the file in his hands. “Five years ago there were three similar cases, unsolved, of course,“ he threw a meaningful look at Anderson, “so the nurse decided it was a great and unpunished way of making a living. She ran out of money and started killing again.”

“And why were they bled to death?“ asked Greg.

“Both a diversionary tactic and a way to earn money in the blood black market. I’m sure you’ll be able to hitting two targets with one shot, Lestrade."

“Brilliant.“ Muttered John. Sherlock’s left commissure turned up. He loved when John said that.

As they got back to Scotland Yard, the DI started barking orders. Soon, the woman was arrested and waiting for the Yards in the interview room.

“We are finished here.“ Said Sherlock with a hint of boredom signing the last form for the paperwork and standing up. John did the same and embraced the detective. The consulting detective smiled fondly and amusedly at him. The doctor wasn’t keen on public displays of affection. Until then, at last, since John stood on his tiptoes and pressed his lips with Sherlock’s, kissing him softly at first. The detective responded to his kiss and slightly opened his mouth when John’s tongue gently nudged his lips. Soon, the kiss got more passionate, John grabbing Sherlock’s waist and Sherlock curling his fingers on John’s hair. Finally they parted to breath.

“Holmes, I… oops, sorry.“ Sally opened and then closed the door office. Both men giggled.

“Donovan, come in, you really know how to spoil a moment.”

Sally reopened the door, her face dark red.

“Holmes, I wanted to…”

“It’s ok.”

“But you don’t know what I’m…”

“I always know, Donovan. I know everything.“ Said Sherlock in a smug tone.

The sergeant rolled her eyes.

“I still don’t understand how you could fall in love with him.“ She teased John.

“Because,“ Sherlock answered, embracing John again,“ _Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself, but talent instantly recognizes genius_.”

John blushed furiously and then pushed the detective towards the door.

“Let’s go home. I’m going to be making love to you until…”

“Until I beg for mercy, twice?

“Nope, until you beg for food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I wanted to thanks all of you for your comments, kudos, subscriptions and so. All of them gave me a feedback that pushed me to finish the work. So thanks for taking your time in writing them, leaving kudos and so. 
> 
> Some tips about this final chapter::
> 
> The sentence "Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself, but talent instantly recognizes genius" appears in "The Valley of Fear". Actually in the book it's Watson who says it, but I thought it was a great way to praise John and to explain why he saw in Sherlock what anyone couldn't.
> 
> A "pas a deux" (French traslation of "step of two") is a dance duet in which two dancers perform ballet steps together. I liked the idea of Sherlock and John somehow dancing together. 
> 
> Finally the WWE SmackDown is a professional wrestling television program. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you'll enjoy it.
> 
> Zoltar character appeared in the movie Big (1988), and I used it as inspiration for the start of the story. If you haven't watched it, I advise you to do it. It's really funny and you shouldn't miss the piano scene. 
> 
> English is not my moher tongue, so any mistakes are all mine :-)


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